The Demon Lobotomist

The last demon dream was nothing compared to the one on the following night. It was as if the little bastard had an older brother who got WAY pissed off about me singing him to sleep the way I did. (And by sleep I mean a permanent state of residual ectoplasm under my shoe.)

My brother and I were in our front yard with my friend Matt discussing a situation Matt had just gotten himself into that made him into a fugitive. He had opposed some kind of terrifying authority like the police but with more supernatural or cosmic empowerment and he was hopelessly on the run. He needed our help. We agreed to help any way we could.

Just then, an unmarked boxtruck comes roaring up our driveway almost hitting us. Matt shrieks, "He's here!!!" as we dive out of the way. "Who's here?!" I screamed back.

Out of the driver seat leaps a youthful and sprightly fellow wearing a white labcoat and a head mirror. In his hand we saw the gleaming of a blade... it is a scalpel.

We are all frozen now as this fantastic character approaches us and begins to speak. He is charismatic and funny, as he speaks I find myself liking him, and I want him to like me. He explains to us quite apologetically that he has to lobotomize our friend Matt, because of the things he has done and laws he has broken, but that in the end it is really for the best and he explains why with flawless reasoning and we all believe him, even Matt.

My brother and I go inside, upon his suggestion, and wait for him to return Matt to us. We sit inside the house both pleased and happy with the way things seem to be going... even a little excited for this great thing that is about to happen to Matt. Sitting sedate in the dim afternoon light, I suddenly snap back into reality and think, "Who the fuck does this guy think he is!" This shakes Danny out of his state and he blurts out, "We can't let him do this to Matt!"

We know that we're up against something big and we know that by trying to stop the lobotomy we will incur the same wrath upon ourselves as well, but all I can think is that this person, or the institute he stands for, has no right to physically and mentally alter someone for disobeying a rule.

Danny and I each grab a baseball bat from the closet and head out the door. We rush out into the street and start beating on the sides of the boxtruck. We scream out loud, making sounds like native war cries. I can see that all that we are doing is making small dents and rocking the frame on it's axles. But it apparently it is enough to at least get the lobotomist's attention.

The metal siding of the truck melts away beneath our blows to reveal the demon lobotomist shaking his head  and looking down at us with an almost sympathetic expression as if to say, "Oh now look what I have to do to you."

Fighting ensues. A blur of confused violence and I lose track of my brother and Matt and where I am and what is even happening. I know at some point I realize I'm in way over my head and I'm bounding down hallways fleeing for my life only to hear the slow steady footsteps of the lobotomist approaching at the same slack, self-assured pace. Black claps of leather echoing coldly in the hallway telling me I can never stop running and he is always gaining.

I jump inside a bathroom and lock the door. I turn around and realize that the bathroom has two doors and I lock the other door behind me as well. I'm now standing between two locked doors in a small space just wider than my shoulders. Just then, the entrance doorknob is gripped and starts to shake with frantic, rabid urgency. I grab onto it and try to fortify the lock, just as the other doorknob behind me comes to life. Instinctively I reach across with my other hand to grip that doorknob when I suddenly realize that this is impossible for both doorknobs to be doing this. How could the lobotomist be too places at once?

I realize that he is, and he is so much more than anything I've ever dealt with. I recall my other dream within this one, how I sang a demon to death by reaching the silver note. I realize that this singing would not work here. This lobotomist was of another breed.

With arms outstretched, fully flexing, I hold the position and hear a small voice in my head whispering percussive prompts, "Stay. Hold. Wait. Tight. Twist. Hold." I realize, just like in the last dream, that the demon is shrinking outside. He is breaking upon my makeshift fortress. The same voice softly explains that sometimes the demon is such that you must hide and wait... you must know when you are outmatched and act accordingly.

I learned to be in rhythm with the demon and predict his moves. If I twisted right when he twisted left, our forces would cancel each other out, and the lock would be preserved. I did this with both hands knowing that if I kept my locks intact, he would eventually be worn down or leave. I protected my locks.

I woke up with a start in my bed, a crazy buzzing all over my skin. Terrified and squirming, I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe that bathroom was a real battleground... maybe it was the last safe place in my head  from an invading entity who was trying to enter me in my sleep.

Demmmmon Dreammmms

    Last night there was a demon in my dream. I felt a pair of soft palms slide up my back and shove me gently toward the sliding glass door. My brother and sister come rushing up behind me, panic-stricken and hellbent on exiting the house. We all collide in a confused tangle of limbs and deflecting shoulders. Again I feel a soft push  from a pair of invisible and disembodied hands.
    Deafening terror seizes me as I grasp for the sliding glass door and yank it open. I turn to the blank space of the dining room and attempt to address the demon directly but my voice is stopped up as if with phlegm. I begin to aspirate, my throat clogged with dull, black clay, yet somehow I manage to cough up the word "Jesus". This just barely clears my throat enough for me to rasp, "Demon, leave this house immediately!"
    We all three stare at the opening to the back yard and I growl... "Demon, Leave."
     The door slams shut.
     Shimmering, diamond eyes blink at me as the light flickers.
     Anger now instead of fear as I suddenly realize what must be done. Stepping into the center of the room, I see my own figure from without, a figure that seems suddenly taller as he raises his right hand high above his head, palm inward. After inhaling deeply, I let out a sudden, ascending melody that wavers and sputters out again like a wounded bird trying to take flight. This is it I think, this is the way... I clear my throat and begin again. A melody erupts smoothly and flawlessly to an uncanny, supernatural frequency and holds, maintaining at a volume and pitch that seems to hiss cold, metallic and shrill like the edge of a blade. My voice takes on qualities that seem both angelic and machine-like at the same time, resounding now with strange harmonic accompaniment.
    
I cannot see this, but I feel the demon shriveling at the sound of my voice, shrinking like a tumor. It takes all my strength and focus to carry this song to it's end, knowing full well that this entity must be dissolved to bits lest he regain strength. I persist.
    There is a sudden breaking, the way resistance gives way when overcome, and I stumble forward just a step. There is a smear of white paste on the wood floor.

But the magic is in my skin...

Psychic synchronicities abound in multiples daily now. If I've learned anything from these strange coincidences in the past, then I should know that change is on the way. And by change I do not mean merely physical or material change (yet in that respect I may have some clue as to what), but more importantly... a change of perspective or some new mental structure is crystallizing.

So many little miracles are happening all the time and we are hardly paying close enough attention to notice them. Finally I am slowing down enough to see the  little clues suggesting the interconnectedness of reality everywhere I look, and in return, it appears as if some kind of intelligence is waving at me through the seeming randomness of events. Is it my own psyche projecting narcissistic nonsense? Or is my consciousness effecting the randomness of the apparent chaos around me and self organizing coherence?

Today at work,  I  started thinking about a conversation I had with a woman about Jesus and the Devil at a show we played a few nights ago. I thought to myself, I ought to write about our little discussion. It wasn't more than five minutes after thinking this when I heard someone requesting to sit in my section and be served by me. It was the same woman.

My nights have been long the past week... I have been spending them with an old book on philosophy I read in high school called Sophie's World. There probably isn't a more important book to my development since the Bible, yet I hadn't returned to it in almost ten years. Two days ago I picked it up again. At work the following day, a filmaker/author named Heath Jones whom I admire and who often frequents the diner, introduced me to his young daughter whom I had never seen or met in the year or two that I have known him. Her name was Sophia. She looked up at me and said jovially, "Hello Matt."

Sophie says hello.

Maybe I'm a schizophrenic with a positive outlook so it's of no consequence. This is always possible too. But when I pick up a book it's talking about the same thing that I was thinking about, or someone was just talking about  the thing on my mind as it plays on the the T.V. simultaneously. Last night I read in Sophie's World about Logos and the early Greek philosophers Parmenides and Heraclitus. Taking a break from that book, I switched to another book I have already read by Daniel Pinchbeck called 2012:The Return of Quetzalcoatl. As it happened, the pages I crossed within the next ten minutes happened to touch upon Parmenides, Heraclitus and Logos.

Of course, the first thing that I think is that on some level I must have known that both of these books talked about these philosophers and concepts, being as how I've read both of them already, even if on a conscious level I had forgotten this. The natural conclusion would be that some part of me, my subconscious perhaps, was leading me to read these things at the same time. And immediately I ask, is this no less a miracle?

If we are to accept that the subconscious works is such subtle ways, utilizing and weaving practically forgotten knowledge, and we take seriously the Jungian notion of collective unconsciousness... well, then we might have a new context in which we see these strange occurrences called coincidence. Might they not be evidence of the subtle weaving of an even larger, all encompassing Mind? Is it not possible that on a micro level such as the case of my mind leading me to read two books that align with the same concept, that it might also occur on a macro level, where people, things or events might be brought together for some greater subconscious purpose?

Bah! But what's to come of it? I don't know. If it's not all hogwash and there is meaning to it, then what, what, what should we do? There aren't any clear mandates from the great Mind, that coherency that elusively slips in and out of focus. In the end, the only response I know to give is that of wonder. I am amazed by it and I recognize it, and I have noticed that this response of wonder, this recognition, makes the synchronicities appear more often. And it just may be that this wonder is the most important response we can feel, because it reminds us that this life and this world is sacred and worthy of our full attention. I could hardly think of a more important mandate than understanding that.

Yeasayer- "Ambling Alp"

Reintegration

My favorite kind of dream is the death rehearsal.

Today my nap was rudely interrupted by astral indigestion and a glorious epiphany that got mostly lost again on the way back to waking consciousness (as is usually the case).

These things are impossibly hard to record, and words are impossibly weak, but I will try to mark it down anyways:

I will say that I was floating somewhere in my bed but under my covers was a sea of stars and moons and planets. In this twinkling, cosmic space scape I began having a conversation with myself, speaker to listener.

But first I must point out that I felt completely weightless and strangely clean, as if I was me in pure form, without all the baggage of my superficial thoughts and identifications. This was confirmed by the speaker (who was me) who began saying something like, "This is the you behind you, the seer, the awareness that is always there while you are alive and that survives death when the ego and body pass away." Simultaneously an image of consciousness flashed in my mind, an analogous display of my awareness as being a stream of flowing blue iridescent water filling and flowing through a particular shape or vessel, that shape being my human form as I knew myself in the world. The speaker says, "That container is your body and the shape that the water takes within it is your ego or your sense of self. Death destroys the body, and therefore the particular shape that consciousness had as it was flowing through it ceases to exist as well... however, the consciousness itself... the actual part of you that is aware and observing, that returns to a larger flow of consciousness and you realize, or remember, that you have always been so much more than that temporary shape. What you thought of as yourself was only a small part of a much larger identity that you had forgotten."

Again, a flash of understanding as I suddenly imagined how the flow of consciousness was funneled or injected into the incredible smallness of the human form. I also understood that it was a willful choice of consciousness to do this, knowing full well that it would forget its own identity and be confused, once isolated from the whole. This was a brave and adventurous endeavor on behalf of consciousness and I felt a reverence for every living thing which in turn, included myself. This was followed by a feeling of legitimate pride, not the ego self-congratulatory type, but a healthy feeling akin to self-worth. I realized that by just existing in the human form, I have been accomplishing a brave and powerful feat. This was true of everyone I knew.

This is what I get for reading all the weird books and spiritual texts that I do. They would obviously inform my dreams at some point. Nonetheless, to experience such things so lucidly, as more than just concepts, well that is something to behold.

Reintegrating with the whole, the reunification of consciousness, if it happens like this, seems to me to be very similar to what Christians view as going to Heaven: ultimate and eternal communion with God, reunion with loved ones, and full understanding of the nature of things.

And if this is true, maybe it can be said that Hell or purgatory at least, is something like that process of watching the you who you thought you were being burned away, which would likely be an excruciating or terrifying experience, especially if one was extremely attached to that particular shape one had assumed throughout their life. (With this in mind, one might view the senility or dementia of old age as being a kind of blessing in disguise, the preparation for such a process, a kind of graceful disengagement from the self.)

The most important part of this dream that I am left with though, is that feeling of demarcation between what you might call my spirit and my soul (to use terms from the Christian cosmology.) If I sit right now and concentrate, I can still feel, if just briefly, that baseline awareness beneath all the outward thoughts and associations that comes with engaging with the world and the human condition. I imagine both life and death would be easier if you could achieve this state of awareness regularly.

“Please Lord give me strength
to be nobody
’cause I am not my thoughts.”

Akron/Family

Anonymix 1

1. The Circulatory System - (Drifts)
2. Starflyer 59 - She's The Queen
3. Syd Barrett - No Good Trying
4. Candy Claws - Catamaran
5. OOIAH - OOIAH
6. Lost in Lava Town - Seat of Wisdom
7. Four Tet - Clouding
8. Sean Lennon - Dead Meat
9. Yoko Ono and the Plastic Ono Band - Moving Mountains
10. Bear in Heaven - Drug a Wheel
11. Radon Moon - Secret Space Invasion (Demo)
12. Entrance - Stranded in a Clearing

Download: http://www.mediafire.com/?ktzhmmw1gmi

Diner

It has happened before, often when a storm or fog rolls in and the roads empty of cars and the streetlights shine weirdly in the hazy dark outside. Customers stop coming and soon the restaurant is completely empty. Standing inside Denny's looking out, I begin to feel like there is no other reality beyond the dimly lit parking lot, as if the very ground ends abruptly into black nothingness at the edge of light. It is in these conditions, where I can trick or convince myself, that I have died and am now in some kind of middle world... a spirit trapped in purgatory or some strange no-place.

Leaning against the counter, I think to myself, this is all there is or ever will be... any thoughts of home or my after work life I imagine as being just dreams or some long ago memory... the only reality is this diner and I am a ghost trapped inside.

I have played this little mind game more than once. I played it tonight when those strange storms came through. And more than once I have thought, maybe there is some truth to this fantasy. Maybe my overextended employment at Denny's is some kind of penance or sentence that I have been ordered to carry out. Maybe I am paying for certain sins of my past. Perhaps it is a Karmic balancing in this life as opposed to the next, or maybe I am being purified before I move onto the next stage of my life.

The diner is a strange place to be stranded. It has a special loneliness that can only occur in places of transit. Because, when it comes down to it, a diner is most often a place one eats out of necessity and not mainly for pleasure: it is a place between places, not usually a destination. There are always exceptions, but this is the general way of things.

Tonight a shade from the past came to visit me. His sole reason was to see me and visit with me, but there was an unnerving air about him. We chatted across the table for a while when finally he says, "You know, I never saw you waiting tables... is this where you thought you'd end up?"

Leering faces of old friends, lovers and enemies have been paraded before me for the past three years of this job. Even in some of my closest, oldest friends, I have detected a sinister gleam and gloating flashing behind their eyes. A hissing suggestion of, "And you thought yourself so special..."

I have been a right bastard in my day. So much pride and stupidity in my youth. I thought myself a savior. I thought myself a genius. I thought myself above so many people. Maybe it's that pride that's being burned off.

Perhaps my stay in purgatory is drawing to an end. I have to stop now and work hard to remember the person who I am paying for, because that person is no longer me. So much change has acted upon me and in a lot of ways, I am a different person altogether.

All of these thoughts swirled around me today as I cleaned the back dining room, preparing to go home for the night. Catching my reflection in the window I thought to myself, but how much longer do I have to stay here and repay my debts? And immediately the thought: as long as you think it takes.

Because in the end, it was always my choice to stay.

GEMINMYEYE (by Marielle DuToit)

>

Drawing Day (A While Back)

I'm posting these pictures to remember a special day

Beck and Charlotte Gainsbourg "Heaven Can Wait"

Let's Talk About Evil

The other night, Marielle and I went to see "Paranormal Activity" and we both found it to be exciting, nerve racking and kind of terrifying. There were many people in that theater who clearly felt the same way, such as the girl who was sitting next to me with her boyfriend who spoke out at one of the characters saying something like, "Don't you do that! You're opening up the door and inviting it (the demon) in!" Marielle and I smirked when we heard this, but and I admit, we both cringed every time the camera resumed it's midnight position on the sleeping protagonists... where shit always went down.

Then of course, there are those who have found this movie to be totally dull, over-hyped, and disappointing. This was seen in our theater too, where, at the peak of the movie's suspense, a piercing snore burst from one of the rows, followed by a young man's voice saying loudly,"What'd I miss? Did I miss anything?"

Well, I don't know if that kid was putting on like he was sleeping as commentary on the movie's pace or if he actually had fallen asleep and woken up confused and embarrassed, but either way, the point is the same: for some people, this movie wasn't even close to being scary.

Which is exactly what my dear friend Kate said to me the other night before I went to see it. She said even her little sister found the film boring, and she, as Kate put it, is a total wimp.

This puts me in a strange position, somewhere below wimpy, dare I say, wimpier than wimpy, because I felt my skin crawling for a little while even after the movie ended and I'm certainly not alone in this experience, being as how the movie has been so successful in climbing to the top of the box office from having started as an underground, independent film doing the festival circuit two years ago.

There are no doubt countless of reasons why some people find it scary and some people don't, many of which cases probably have something to do with a certain defensive stance people take towards anything that has gathered hype or good reviews. People like to assert their individuality by not liking something that is generally liked. Perhaps for many others, the movie didn't live up to the usual horror flick qualities that are the norm, such as blood and gore and jumpingoutfromcorners killers and monsters with red eyes and people getting killed while being naked
(which I've always hated for obvious reasons). But even with those things which are certainly all valid reasons, there was something that Kate had said that stuck in my mind for a while after seeing the movie. She said, "Well I've never believed in demons anyway, so it wasn't scary."

Maybe this is the key to why this movie is scary for some and totally not for others. I was raised to believe in demons. Marielle was raised Catholic, which of course, is the religion that has certified priests who are exorcists. In fact, in the short time since I've seen the movie and to the few people who I have talked to it about, I have seen that the ones who have found it scary were mostly raised as Christians or in Christian homes.

Slipping into a secular perspective, I'd have to say that this is an upsetting situation. Essentially, it means that parents, pastors, priests and teachers within the church are teaching their children that the monster under their bed is, in fact, real. Or in most cases, they are actually the first to tell their children that there is a monster under their bed at all. Just picture the children's Sunday school lesson where adults sit in a circle of young, impressionable minds, explaining the Christian cosmology of demons, Hell, and the devil. Of course, there are many discerning adults who gauge the maturity level of their listeners and preach/teach accordingly, but this is the stuff that has to be taught to young Christians eventually, just as it was taught to me. Implanted... injected.

And that's the whole thing. There is a fear that is created, so that the shelter or safety is necessary. This is the same with guilt. Christianity creates guilt (original sin and so on)... so that the cure is justified or necessary. These are the psychological mechanics of Christianity, regardless of whether demons and the devil or sin are actually real, the concepts themselves are very important as functions that create the whole atmosphere that is Christian belief.

When it comes down to it, God needs the devil, good needs evil, Heaven needs Hell. Elementary stuff: how could we know the nature of what is good if there wasn't some kind of opposite by which to compare it to? Opposites work against and with each other to create a certain balance that is necessary to this perspective. And I'm not saying that this perspective, the Christian perspective, is bad or wrong or evil, but I'm afraid that in creating the necessary dichotomies, Christianity and many other religions actually create evil in order to create good.

If, as I believe, the mind is a powerful, reality creating tool... then believing in demons, evil, hell, or original sin actually makes these things so (at least to the believer). And being as how the human mind is so much more complex and capable than we are fully aware of, it is kind of an unsettling thought to consider what could happen when we go creating entities in our heads that can take on a will of their own and are capable of horrible atrocities.

"Psychic Snares"

Psychic Snares by Matt Wall

Sometimes an ugly song...


Lyrics:

The sun already set upon it,
All the reasons long forgotten,
All the details blurring into space.
I don't need to talk about it,
Heaven knows I've thought about it.
Penance in the mirror, owning up to my mistakes.

So I don't have to listen to a word you say,
You've already taken up more time than you deserve.

When you see me, don't you speak to me
Don't you look at me
Don't you think

And I don't have to listen to a word you say,
You've already taken up more time than you deserve.

I'm no longer worried about what's right,
I'm no longer worried about what's right.
I know what I need
And I know I don't need your forgiveness.

Town Hall Goat Convention

I was on my way to the library the other day and I happened to glance at the TV screen on my way out the door. The news was on and to my surprise, I saw the face of a lady I recognized who comes in all the time to Denny's for a bite to eat. She and her family often come in before or after church on Wednesday night and I have often noted to myself that they were well-mannered, well-dressed,and well spoken; a pleasant break from the burping hordes of typical Smyrnans that fill up many a booth.
With this being said, I was arrested by the clip on the screen, because the woman here was nothing like the elegant, graceful one whom I have spoken with time and again. Here she was enraged and flailing in front of the reporter's microphone, the apparent spokesperson for the angry mob behind her at the town hall meeting opposing the nationwide health care reform that has been causing such a stir these days.
At the moment I was passing she was saying, or rather screaming, "For them to get health care when they haven't been paying in, well, it's, it's just plain wrong!"
I left the house and drove down to the library. It's just plain wrong. Wrong. Wrong, wrong. For them to get healthcare, wrong. Wrong.
I kept thinking about her words and how forceful and angry she was. The attractive forty-something looked hideous in that clip. They say that television blows you up or adds pounds to you unflatteringly, but this woman had looked frailer than usual, the bones in her face seemed hard and pronounced, her bony jaw clipping off every word.
I thought to myself, how could you say someone getting health care is wrong at all? How could those words come out of your mouth without you stopping them on their way? You are essentially saying that money is more important, more real to you than the health and well being of another, who would be, no doubt, less fortunate than yourself. How terribly embarrassing it would be to reveal a darkness like that on television.
This same family has invited me to their church in the past,and I remember thinking that they were an exception to the rule; a nice deviation from the intrusive, often offensive church crowd that I am exposed to as a waiter, the crowd that tends to leave evangelical tracts on the table where the tip should be.
Wrong! And it's starting to look like this stance of not granting healthcare to every American who needs it is the "proper" stance for the American Christian to take.
Now I'm really trying to wrap my fallen, logic corrupted mind around this strange twist of fate. These people who call themselves "Christ-ians" apparently have no idea what Jesus was talking about when he said "Love thy neighbor as thyself." I mean, I was kind of under the impression that Christians were to follow in the footsteps of Christ, a man who sacrificed himself and his personal well being for the good of the whole in an opened arm symbol of all embracing compassion.
I guess I shouldn't be confused or surprised by any of this though. Exclusionism is more of a virtue of Christianity than even charity. Most Christians define themselves by what and who they are not rather than what they are. There is a whole history of bloodshed and persecution to back that statement up. Another case in point that Jesus was not a Christian.
In the end, there is a person's religion and than there is the person's economical(and thus, political) position in the real world. The words of Christ, the whole religion, in fact, is only useful in as much as it profits the person using it. So many Christians quick to quote Romans 1 or the ten commandments or any other law and righteousness passage do so because it gives them a position from which to condescend... and this feels good for them. Meanwhile, the words in red, the words of Christ who is the very cornerstone of their religion, go largely ignored. Words like those don't sit well in the mind. They itch and agitate.
But then again, Jesus did do some excluding, picking and choosing after all. This unnerving parable shows the nature of what he valued...

"When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his throne in heavenly glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.
Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'

Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'

The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'

Then he will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.'

They also will answer, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?'

He will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.'

Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life."

Matthew 25:31-46

"Dreamers"

Collaboration with my brother Danny...

DReaMERs by digmachine

"Every second, I drink another cup of my own blood wine.
Every instant, I break an empty cup against your door.

I reach out, wanting you to tear me open."
--Rumi

Lyrics:

You turned on the light when I was sleeping and then it was over
You turned on the light when I was sleeping and then it began
And so I said I have surely seen this face before
Surely this is someone that I know

Is it a dream?

There is always more.

Step into my office, Baby

"Sunflower Chapel"

Sunflower Chapel by Matt Wall

Lyrics:

Stay in a daze
In the place
Where you wanted to remain
In a bed that you made
In a golden glory haze.
It locks you up inside
All your brittle bones and joints
Becoming calcified
But it always was a choice.

Are you afraid of growing old?
Worried your memory might go?
What if your grip slips on the grudges that you hold?
What if the pain that has defined you
Slowly dissolves and falls behind you?
Would you hold on to what's familiar just because?

Gray, in a way
You became
And you let the colors drain
From your face
And your gaze
Became fixed upon a point.
Or could you look me in the eye
Or is there always somewhere else
Off to the left or right?
Only echoes of my voice.

Are you afraid of growing old?
Worried your memory might go?
What if your grip slips on the grudges that you hold?
What if the pain that has defined you
Slowly dissolves and falls behind you?
Would you hold on to what's familiar just because?
Would you hold on to what's familiar because it's all that you got?
I guess you better hold on
If you need somthing to hold on to, hold on...
I guess it's what you need.

Sea shell fingernail scratching at me

Are my special moments your special moments too? Are we having the same dream? I'd certainly like to think so. And since I'd like to, I will.

Lately I've been thinking that the act of carving out your own myths is the same as analyzing and searching for the truth of everything, except it's way more fun to do the first and you are allowed so much artistic freedom.

Let's make something beautiful together.

Maybe One Day You'll Stop and Realize the Throne that You Serve Is Dead

"History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake."
-Stephen Dedalus

A common misunderstanding is that all of those who have turned away from the faith, have done so out of rebellion or a desire to indulge in the sins of the flesh. The image of the prodigal son is called upon and applied to those wayward souls who have left their Father's house to gorge themselves hedonistically on Earthly pleasures, yet ever mindful of their Father's presence and love awaiting them upon return.

However, there are others, myself and some of whom I know personally, who have witnessed the entire collapse of God and faith from within their Father's house. For some it was a slow process, a series of small events and questions piling up; and for others it was one monstrous moment, perhaps a stark, potent image... maybe a small coffin fit for a child. But I digress...

What becomes obvious to one really looking, isn't so much proof positive or negative as to the existence of a God, but rather that the church and the people around you have created a god in their own image, a vain reflection of all that is specific to their culture including fears, prejudices, values, standards and so on. A god painted on a ceiling, obscuring the sky. A mirror. A projection.

Of course, many would argue against this, saying that the understanding of God and the Christian faith is built upon the Scriptures. I have two things to say about this. The first is that from every sect of Christianity down to every person who calls themselves a Christian, there exists a process of picking and choosing, a filtering of how and what is accepted(and excepted) from the Bible. And what are the deciding factors? The person's discretion is based upon their own cultural values, peer relations and personal experiences. The Scriptures are another mirror. Secondly, there is the palimpsestic nature of doctrine and interpretation specific to each sect or denomination. Upon this ancient collection of Jewish and Greek Literature that we call the Bible, there are overwritten new narratives that have been transmitted and expounded upon from priest to priest, pastor to pastor, father to son, and cult leaders to the credulous. After centuries of parallel developments and ill-motives (such as political) obscuring the histories and intent of the Scriptures, it becomes almost impossible to read the Bible without all of these prepackaged meanings jumping between you and the text.

So what does all this equate to? Well, it means that some are going to conclude that the God they were raised with was simply an image or embodiment of the culture they grew up in. And this is hardly a cause for celebration. Forlorn, many will throw themselves headlong into hedonism now as a result of this, maybe some of these will claim that there is no God at all and search for truth now along the more substantial avenues of science and materialism. One can hardly blame them for this.

So yes, there are those who have slipped out of church attendance to a life of sin, probably without a thought to what and why they do what they do, and they were probably ignorant and apathetic all the same to the inner workings of the Christian faith while in it. But then there are those who could no longer live with what they saw as a sham. They had to go. They had to throw their arms in the air and admit humbly that maybe they don't know what actually is going on. Whether they chose to believe in a god or not, they must continue in the search for truth and will seek along what paths they deem authentic or legitimate. While the Christian from within the church might picture the prodigal as grossly rolling in endless orgies, he or she might never imagine the horror and aloneness of that moment when the existential weight of responsibility descends upon one who is coming to grips with his place in an unfamiliar, unexplained universe. And beyond this, he or she could not imagine the freedom that follows.

And in the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson:
"The foregoing generations beheld God and nature face to face; we through their eyes. Why should not we also enjoy an original relation relation to the universe? Why should not we have a poetry and philosophy of insight and not of tradition, and a religion of revelation to us, and not the history of theirs? Embosomed for a season in nature, whose floods of life stream around and through us, and invite us by the powers they supply, to action proportioned to nature, why should we grope among the dry bones of the past, or put the living generation into masquerade out of its faded wardrobe? The sun shines today also. There is more wool and flax in the fields. There are new lands, new men, new thoughts. Let us demand our own works and laws and worship."

His First Blogpost

I would like to take this moment to thank everyone who has helped me get to this point, the great shoulders I have stood upon, the bodies I have eaten, the blood, sweat and tears of my loved ones and mentors throughout the years who have greased and lubricated all my various points of contact with the world. You have all done so much... So much sacrifice.

It's understandable that you might be a little frustrated, having seen no evidence of the fruit of your labours. But alas! I have finally decided to participate and contribute to the world around me; at last my highly anticipated skills and talents will bloom forth and declare the greatness of myself and all those who have come before me. I, Matthew Wall, hereby introduce my blog and in dispassionate, glottle frillian: I mean, yeah, it'll probably change your life.